Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The second round of testing began quickly, and only Richard and Greenwood remained as the remaining bidders.

The sergeant led them to an area of ​​the firing range that the soldiers jokingly called the "torture field." This area was used to simulate the mud and dust of the battlefield, and many closed-arm rifles would be completely destroyed if sand were spilled on them.

"Round two," the general walked to the firing position, "contamination resistance test, dusty environment."

Two soldiers were carrying two basins of dry sand, both of which looked exactly the same grayish-yellow fine sand.

"The rules are simple," the general said. "Each gun is first filled with dry sand, then fired until it jams. The gun that fires the most bullets before jamming wins."

"Mr. Brian, would you like to go first or should I?" Greenwood asked, feigning modesty.

"You go first, let me see what your rifle is capable of." Richard took a step back.

Seeing him back down, Greenwood puffed out his chest and waved to the soldier.

The soldier carrying the Schneider rifle walked to the sand basin, pointed the bolt downwards, inserted it into the dry sand, and stirred it a couple of times.

Fine sand seeped in through the gaps in the hinges, then into the gun barrel. The soldier poured a small pinch of sand into the muzzle and shook it.

"Alright," the general nodded from the side, "prepare for the test."

The soldier picked up the Schneider rifle, which was covered in sand, pulled open the slightly stiff hinge, and loaded a cardboard bullet.

But his movements were noticeably slower than in the first round. He aimed at the target and pulled the trigger.

boom!

Smoke mixed with sand particles blasted by gunpowder, scattering towards both sides of the gun muzzle.

The soldier skillfully repeated the firing process until the sixth shot.

He tried to open the hinge and insert the cartridge, but it wouldn't close. The hinge pivot was stuck in sand, and he couldn't push it open or pull it closed.

"It's stuck." The soldier frowned, futilely digging at the sand in the crack.

Greenwood's lips twitched, and he deliberately raised his voice: "Schneider-Enfield has already proven its reliability in actual combat. Ethiopia, India, it's been on the battlefield everywhere. This sand can be easily brushed away with a brush."

No one responded. The general glanced down at his pocket watch: "Mr. Greenwood, you've fired six shots."

Then he turned to Richard, "Mr. Brian, it's your turn."

The soldier holding the gun received the order, took the gun, and like the previous soldier, inserted the bolt downwards into the dry sand and poured sand into the muzzle.

Just as he was pouring the sand, Richard suddenly noticed a clump of black mud rolling out of his sleeve and sliding down the barrel into the chamber.

It was a wet lump of mud, Richard knew perfectly well. Eleanor had warned him earlier that Greenwood might be behind it, so he remained calm and quietly prepared.

The soldier inspecting the gun raised it, pulled the bolt, and felt a slight stickiness. He loaded a copper-cased bullet, closed the bolt, and fired two shots before the third shot jammed.

The damp mud and black powder residue formed a gelatinous substance that knotted up inside the gun barrel.

"It's already stuck? Only three shots," Greenwood scoffed. "Looks like the Swiss toys aren't all that great after all."

The general, with his hands behind his back, shook his head in disappointment. He was about to announce the selection results when Richard interrupted him:

"Please wait a moment, General!"

"Hmm? Is there anything else you want to say?" The general raised his eyebrows.

"General, Greenwood's breech is malfunctioning and needs to be cleared with a copper brush," Richard stepped forward, "but my gun is stuck in mud and sand, which can be cleared in just three steps."

"Oh?" The general looked at him curiously upon hearing this, because taking out a brush to repair a gun on the spot on the battlefield was undoubtedly a fatal flaw. However, from the introduction of muzzle-loading guns to the switch to breech-loading guns, such troubleshooting had become the norm, and Richard's three-step troubleshooting sounded easy and simple.

"Let me guess, take out the cleaning brush, unclog the barrel, and then put it away?" Greenwood's sarcasm drew chuckles from several judges.

Richard ignored them and stepped forward to take the gun from the soldier.

"Look, everyone," he said, turning the gun over and pulling back the bolt. There was a narrow groove on the bottom of the gun. "This is a sloping guide groove that the designer specially added to the bottom of the groove."

He bent down, picked up a spent copper-cased bullet, inserted the bottom edge of the casing into the groove, and gently scraped it to squeeze out the mud strip.

Then he closed the bolt, quickly pulled the lever three times in a loop, and finally slammed the bottom of the buttstock with the heel of his hand. A clump of black mud poured out of the ejection port and landed on the ground. The whole process took no more than five seconds.

The audience was silent.

The general's eyes widened, and the judges crowded around to look at the mud on the ground; some of them gasped.

Because of this design, obstacles can be easily cleared using only the impact force of the palm and gravity.

The general looked down at the ground again and saw that the mud he had expelled was wet. His face turned ashen as he questioned the soldier who had been shoveling sand: "Why is there wet mud in his gun?"

"Uh, sir, I..." The soldier was at a loss for words, his gaze instinctively drifting towards Greenwood.

"I think it's probably the morning dew in London. You know, it's been raining non-stop these past few days," Richard said, trying to smooth things over for them.

These words stung Greenwood like needles. He had intended to embarrass Richard in public, but instead, he became a living example of his new design. He replied with a forced smile, "Of course, of course, this happens all the time."

The general smiled. He could see everything the people in front of him did. He bent down, picked up the clump of wet mud, and rubbed it between his fingers.

Suddenly, he looked up at Richard and said, "If there had been sloping diversion channels like these on the Crimean battlefield fifteen years ago, many good soldiers would have died much less."

"This is precisely the original intention of Mr. Martini and me in designing this, to allow the Empire to achieve victory in the war with as few casualties as possible." Richard pulled over the taciturn Martini.

"Well said!" The general looked at him approvingly. "I heard about you from Colonel Edgar long ago. At 25, you have such foresight and talent, it's truly remarkable."

"You know Colonel Edgar?" Now it was Richard's turn to be surprised. He hadn't heard from him since they parted ways at the port. "How is he now?"

"He's doing well; he won a battle in Ethiopia and is now waiting for a promotion." The general put away his pocket watch. "I think this round is a foregone conclusion. Does everyone agree?"

The reviewers and sergeants who initially looked down on Richard were all impressed by the superior quality and design, and nodded in approval, knowing that his design might one day save their lives.

Seeing that no one objected, the general announced, "Mr. Richard has won the second round of the sand-resistance test!"